


Five times Rocket claimed Peter as his own (and one time he realised what it meant)

by prosodiical



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (2014)
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Rocket Has A Heart, just buried under a lot of anger issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 09:26:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2223921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prosodiical/pseuds/prosodiical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You," says Rocket lowly, "keep your distance, and I won't have to kill you." He pauses, then adds, as though it isn't obvious enough already, "He's <i>mine</i>."</p><p>Rocket's got a bit of a possessiveness problem when it comes to Peter Quill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five times Rocket claimed Peter as his own (and one time he realised what it meant)

**Author's Note:**

> written for & crossposted at [a prompt on guardian-kink @ lj](http://guardian-kink.livejournal.com/1806.html?thread=411406#t411406).
> 
> Warnings for some slightly greater-than-canon-typical violence and Rocket's inability to stop swearing.

1.  
The first time doesn't count, anyway. Rocket's barely known the guy for an hour, and he's been trying to capture him the whole time, and okay, maybe he's decent looking for a humanoid, and maybe there's something in his smile that makes Rocket think that that bounty isn't worth so much after all -

"I am Groot?" Groot asks him, concerned, and Rocket lets his paws uncurl; he had unconsciously clenched them into fists so hard his knuckles were white.

"Yeah, buddy, let's get to it." So what if Rocket had laid a claim on him? Quill's ass was his, one way or another.

 

2.  
Quill - or Peter, as he insists on being called - has far too much time on his hands, Rocket thinks. Rocket's been putting together a few emergency munitions from what he can salvage in the Milano and fixing the problems he finds, but he needs something with a little more leverage (or someone with a little more brute strength) to wedge out a panel that's been bothering him. When Rocket heads down to the hold to see Groot, there's Quill - Peter - again, because he seems to have nothing better to do with his time than teach Groot how to dance.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Rocket says. Peter's doing some weird backward-walking thing to his mixtape, Groot copying him with enthusiasm as much as he can, stuck in a pot, and Peter looks up and flashes him a blinding smile. Rocket's scowl deepens.

"Just keeping our little friend company, here," Peter says easily, and rubs Groot's head with a knuckle. Groot beams and waves cheerily at Rocket, and fine, okay, Rocket's annoyance maybe drops just a little. "What's up?"

"Your ship is a hunk of junk," Rocket says, crossing his arms. Groot's still swaying along to the music, Peter petting him absentmindedly, and there's an ugly feeling growing in Rocket's chest. "There's something rattlin' around," he bites out, "and you don't have anything for a decent panel-lever."

"Oh," Peter drawls out, grinning, "I get it, you want me for my manly strength, huh - "

"Yeah, whatever. I'm tellin' you," Rocket cuts in, unwilling to listen to his pointless babble, "you need to get it open." He stares Peter down.

"Okay, fine, fine," Peter says, holding up his hands in surrender. "Which one?"

"Third off the left, second up," Rocket says, and judiciously ignores Peter's amused smile as he steps around him and goes upstairs. Then it's just Rocket and Groot, and Groot's giving him a look that's rather unimpressed.

"What?" Rocket snaps, but his heart's not in it. Groot's not up to speech yet, but he folds his arms and gestures meaningfully, his point all too clear. "It's nothin'," Rocket says mulishly, and gives Groot a look right back. "He owes me."

Groot lets him know what he thinks of that. Rocket says sharply, "And what would you know about it, anyway? He's got you into that weird-ass dancin' - " and Groot rustles his few leaves in disapproval.

"Fine," Rocket grumbles, "but remember, his ass is mine."

Groot looks at him pointedly, but Rocket's already stalking back up the stairs to Peter's call; he's got a ship to fix.

 

3.  
Of course it's Drax Peter chooses as a drinking partner; Rocket doesn't much care. He's got parts to buy, and now that Groot's out of his pot and double Rocket's size, he does well enough at being the muscle. But then all their stuff's put back on the ship, and Groot's tired from the day (still weakened, still growing, and Rocket feels the pang of guilt all over again), and Rocket's got nothing to do but find them.

He does, eventually. Rocket's picked up a few drinks along the way, and he's probably halfway to tipsy by the time he stumbles across them at the gambling tables. Drax is uninhibited, loud, and has an arm slung around Peter's shoulders; Rocket grits his teeth as he clambers onto the stool next to them and steals Peter's drink.

"Hey!" Peter says, indignant, but then he spots Rocket and smiles. "Rocket!" he says with enthusiasm, a flush high on his cheeks. Drunk, then, but hopefully not too much. Rocket's not looking forward to herding them back. Though if he gets drunk enough, Gamora will probably pick up the slack. With that thought in mind, Rocket waves another few drinks over as Peter says, "Man, it's good to see you."

"Quill is not a cheat!" Drax bellows suddenly, lunging across the table, and Peter grabs at the arm closest to him, saying,

"Hey, hey, calm down, Drax, it's okay, I'm sure he's scared out of his wits, you can let it go now," and it's fucking magic, is what it is. Drax's fury subsides, Peter giving pointed looks all around, but Rocket can see the tokens up his sleeve.

"You idiot," says Rocket, "gettin' caught out in a place like this."

"Hey," says Peter, wide-eyed, as the guy across the table lays down his, "I'd never," and Rocket scoffs and downs his drink in one go.

"You'd better not," Rocket says, and adds, "Drax'd pitch a fit," which is probably where it all goes wrong.

Rocket's not drunk, okay, but it doesn't mean he doesn't bristle when Drax obviously reacts to his name, spots him and says far too loudly, "The rodent has joined us!" Peter elbows Drax unsubtly and Rocket's scowling up a storm, seeds of anger sprouting in his chest.

"Who the fuck are you calling a rodent," Rocket spits, and Peter gives him a pleading look, all wide eyes and a fat lip and Rocket steals his drink and downs it because he can't look at that face for too long. He watches with that uncomfortable feeling growing as Peter speaks to Drax in a low voice, their heads close together, and suddenly Rocket's fucking done.

He jumps up on Peter's shoulder, catching the tail end of something - "some common courtesy, okay," Peter says earnestly - and tugs on Peter's hair. "C'mon," says Rocket, "we're leaving."

"Wait," says Peter, "hey, Rocket, what're you - ow!"

Drax is close enough already; Rocket can see them _touching_ , can see that hand coming toward him and Peter and enough is enough. "Hands off," he snarls, and yeah, that gun was where he remembered. Peter's saying something, over and over, but Rocket's suddenly furious beyond measure, not even his heartbeat loud enough to drown the ringing in his ears. "Hands - off," he repeats with emphasis, and Drax can probably tell Rocket's about five seconds away from shooting him because he does, finally, retreat.

"Rocket?" Peter asks carefully, and Rocket jumps back to the ground, keeping a wary eye on Drax. The fury's already ebbing away, leaving him feeling somewhat bereft, but Rocket hangs tight to the remnants of it as he brandishes his gun.

"You," says Rocket lowly, close enough to Drax and far enough from Peter that he probably won't hear him, "keep your distance, and I won't have to kill you." He pauses, then adds, as though it isn't obvious enough already, "He's _mine_."

 

4.  
Dancing, Rocket thinks, is the universe's way of driving him insane. Peter's taken the downtime to take Gamora around a spin of the floor, which is really just a cleared space in the middle of the deck, but who is Rocket to nitpick. Gamora's usually someone Rocket respects with a healthy dose of wariness; she's more dangerous than the lot of them thrown together, but like this, laughing at Peter's terrible attempts at flirting, Rocket just feels - annoyed. Disappointed, maybe, for her acting so normal, like she's not the most deadly assassin in the universe.

But it's not the dancing, or the cooking, or the singing, or even the headphone-sharing - which Rocket loudly declares as completely juvenile every time it happens - which gets stuck in his craw. It's not even the close, quiet talks they have, where Peter gets that look on his face that makes something inside Rocket ache, that make Rocket think that they're probably, maybe, fucking, or if not they're about to -

In the end, it's on a mission when he cracks. Gamora and Drax are off in the lead, with Rocket and Peter and Groot picking up the rear. They get flanked and Groot gets separated - holding his own, though, and that's a relief - and then it's just Rocket and Peter, back-to-back in the fray.

It's the way Rocket likes it. "Left," Peter calls out, and Rocket blasts it to bits, then throws a grenade at the approaching few and watches with glee as they go up in a plume of fire. Peter's eyeroll and sigh says _was that really necessary_ and Rocket laughs, delight and adrenaline pounding in his veins. One of the creatures is attempting to sneak up on them from the side, and Rocket has it in his sights when a black-clad leg kicks it down, followed by a spinning silver knife which returns to Gamora's hand.

"Hey!" Rocket shouts indignantly. "I had it!" He turns and shoots another in the face, but the violence does nothing to diminish the stirring feeling in his gut, the one that makes him glare at her darkly.

"Of course you did," says Gamora, seemingly unperturbed; she takes out another three as she manouvers closer to Peter, and Rocket finds himself annoyed - no, more than that, he's well-approaching anger. Peter, of course, is still doing his part, but Rocket's targets are taken down by Gamora more often than not and isn't it enough that she has Peter's attention in the Milano, or whenever they're out planetside chatting or negotiating payment, isn't it enough that she has his smiles and laughter now and forever and isn't it not too much to fucking ask for Rocket to just have this -

She does it again. "Stop taking my fuckin' kills," Rocket hisses, and he's keeping an eye out, of course, but the urge is there to point a gun in her direction.

She blinks at him, as though she hasn't even noticed, and that doesn't help abate his annoyance - growing anger - okay, fine, he's raging mad. "I'm sorry?"

"You," Rocket says, and stalks toward her, shooting the aliens in between them until they splatter with a vicious satisfaction. "You're supplantin' me, that's what you're doing, like I'm not fucking capable enough myself - "

"I never said such a thing," she says, bemused, and throws her knife to kill one behind Rocket, which he was going to turn around and shoot in just a second, really. "Rocket - "

"Hey," says Peter, stepping toward them, but at the distance he's at he probably only heard one word in three. "Guys," he starts, but Rocket cuts him off.

"You watch out," he says, and tosses Peter one of his guns. He's got another, and a pile of bombs, but he won't need anything more for this. "Missy and I are gonna have a little _talk_ ," and his voice is laden with it, the heavy, dark thing settling in his gut, something he's loathe to call mere fury, something that runs through the core of him like it's embedded in his implants. Gamora looks confused, startled, and it's the distraction which lets Rocket shoot one of those alien creatures right beside her, less than a foot away. The splatter makes him feel a little better.

"Rocket?" she asks, and Rocket says sharply,

"Don't start - I'm able to - I've been killing things since I can remember, blowing their brains out like - " but Gamora, in a rare flash of insight, interrupts.

"This isn't about that, is it." She kills another two, coming up behind her, with ruthless efficiency. Rocket tightens his grip on his gun, remembers the weapon of his body as well, sharp claws and sharper teeth. "Rocket."

"This," says Rocket heatedly, "is about you, you takin' things that you don't need, you takin' things that don't belong to you, you takin' him away from me like everything that's mine has been taken from me one way or another - " and, voice risen to a near shriek, he turns and throws one of his better grenades over the horde. It lands with an explosion that shakes the ground they stand on, a pressure wave that knocks him back a step, and Rocket's anger wanes with the fire. When he chances a look over at Gamora, she looks - oh, and that's pity, isn't it? Rocket snarls at her wordlessly, turning away to avoid that stupid look, those stupid emotions he can't fucking stand - 

"Rocket," she says, and he pauses. "Peter and I - we're just friends."

"What the fuck does that have to do with anything?" Rocket snarls, but when he chances a look back she looks impassive, maybe amused. Rocket kills one of the last stragglers coming up on them, shoots it dead in the head, blowing it up in a chunk of blood and brain tissue, and attributes the ease in his chest to the therapeutic violence. That's all it is. He shouldn't over-think it.

 

5.  
Nothing on this mission's gone right from the start. The artifact - a shiny glove or something, whatever, Rocket tuned 'em out after the amount of units was mentioned - was not only on an inhospitable planet but also had a bunch of other people after it too.

There wasn't enough carbon dioxide in the atmosphere for Groot to leave the ship, first of all. Then Drax got himself stung by some insect and came down with a case of I-must-sleep-right-here-and-now and Peter got himself shot in the leg, and his limping was getting them nowhere fast. Rocket had pushed Gamora - the quickest and most reliable of them - on to get the thing, and once he and Peter had found a nearby cave to shelter in, they had stayed.

Of course, then the Ravagers had to show up. 

Rocket's been feeling less and less himself over the last twenty minutes, watching over Peter as he finally lost consciousness, and when someone in a Ravager outfit comes stumbling into their cave Rocket can't quite make out if it's one person or two. He squints at them furiously and brandishes his gun. He'll probably have to aim in the middle, if only they'd stay somewhere near still. "Don't move," Rocket threatens, and takes a step forward - and that was a bad idea, the world lurching around him. Rocket feels the faintest stirrings of unease.

"Hey!" says the guy, apparently ignoring Rocket's threat, focused instead of Peter unconscious on the cavern floor, lying in a pile of dirt and dust. "That's little Quill!" He thumbs at his communicator and Rocket threatens,

"Stop or I'll shoot," and to prove his point, shoots at the left one. The guy steps back, resolving and then blurring again, and Rocket adds, "Don't you fuckin' dare."

"You're not goin' ta keep him there long," says the guy. "Captain's comin' this way too."

"Oh?" Rocket says dubiously. He's feeling lightheaded, a little dizzy, but his aim is still steady. "I'll believe it when I see it - "

And then someone who might probably be the Captain strolls in, easy as you please, and Rocket can't deal with this, Rocket can't - but he has to. The guy's got that red thing on his head, that weird whistle-arrow weapon he threatened Peter with once upon a time, and Rocket can almost hear it now, phantom ringing in his ears. "Quill?" says the Captain, and only then sees Rocket there, being the most ineffectual guard ever. Rocket weighs his options and shoots at the first guy, a blur on the edge of his vision.

"Shit!" the guy yelps, and falls to the ground, clutching what might be his leg. Rocket hefts his gun and points it straight between the mirages of the Captain, and says,

"I'll fuckin' shoot you."

The Captain looks at him, his hands on his hips; Rocket can see the light of the arrow shining through the blur of his person, piercing to his eyes and giving him an awful headache. "How's Quill?" he says, after a moment.

"Fuckin' useless," Rocket mutters, half to himself, and kicks a foot backward into what he hopes is Peter's stomach. Louder, he says, "He's better'n what he'd be with you lot." Rocket's vision wavers a little, black spots dancing, but he keeps his stance. It's becoming a challenge; his legs want to fall out from underneath him.

"He's bleedin' out," says the Captain, and Rocket's obviously lost his fucking mind because he turns around to check; the whistle echoes in his ears above the sound of his heart pounding and something ringing too loud. It's only his quick fingers that save him, dropping his gun and pulling a grenade out of his pocket before the guy can blink. Rocket holds it in near-shaking paws, blackness creeping up on the edges of his vision, and turns around slowly. The arrow stays still and deadly, pointed right at his head.

"Maybe you can kill me," says Rocket, "but one fuckin' hint of another whistle and we're all blown sky high." His voice doesn't shake, though he's wavering on his feet. His heartbeat is pounding, pounding, pounding in his ears, in time with the flashes of light he can see creeping up on him, his peripheral vision shrinking as quick as can be.

"And your friend too?" the Captain asks, nodding in Peter's direction.

"My _friend_ ," Rocket says, with a viciousness growing with the desperation of the situation sinking into him, into his terribly shaking arms, his fingers nearly numb, "is too much of a fuckin' optimist, thinks everyone can come out alive from this shit. Not me," says Rocket, and tugs a little harder at the pin on the grenade, just to make a point, just to watch the Captain's whole posture stiffen. "I know when to cut my losses."

The Captain steps forward deliberately, one two until he's in reaching distance, too fucking close and when he kneels down near Peter's head Rocket's had it, he's had enough, the roar in his ears blood rushing through his veins or maybe his death incoming but his fingers clench on the grenade, almost to breaking point as he snarls, "Stay the fuck away! Don't you - fuckin' - he's mine, you bastard!" and the grenade drops like lead as Rocket forgets himself and leaps for his face, claws outstretched, blackness encroaching on his vision.

The last thing he hears is a dream - Peter's voice, calling his name.

 

+1.  
"So, uh," starts Peter. Rocket's up and about again, not wanting to spend any more time than necessary in a stark-white healing room. He'd apparently been bitten by the same insect that got Drax, differing species, different results. Peter should probably be off his feet, his leg still healing as the drugs do their work, but he's awkwardly standing around the cots the Ravagers have set up for them (and isn't that fucking weird; Peter really is a miracle worker to get them here not only un-killed but looked after).

Peter doesn't seem to want to continue, so Rocket gives him a light push toward one of the cots. "Quick-thinkin’ as ever, _Star-Lord_ ," Rocket says easily, the sarcasm obvious in his voice. "Stop stressin' that leg."

"Aw," says Peter, "you worried?" but there's something peculiar about his tone, something that makes Rocket look at him suspiciously.

"Nothin' like that," Rocket says, "just - the quicker you're healed, the quicker we're not relying on the Ravagers for 'hospitality'." Sure, they're nice now, but how long will it last? Rocket doesn't really want to stay long enough to find out.

"Hey," says Peter, a token protest. He lies down on the cot, staring up at the ship's ceiling, as though he can see through it to all the stars in the galaxy. "Y'know, it's sort of nostalgic, being back here. Seeing all the guys, seeing Yondu again, back in the ship I grew up in..." He trails off, looking thoughtful, and Rocket feels a faint foreboding.

"You didn't - trade anythin', did you?"

"Uh," says Peter. He gives Rocket a wide-eyed, supposedly innocent look, but folds under Rocket’s stare. "Look, okay, they saved us from that shitty place! Gamora got the thing, yeah, but apart from her and Groot - who couldn’t even leave the ship - the rest of us weren't doing too well out there," and Rocket closes his eyes and rubs at his nose in frustration.

"You traded the glove thing. The eight-hundred-thousand units-worth glove thing that we nearly fuckin' died to get - "

"They saved us!" Peter insists, "Also, Yondu'll split it half with us - "

"They're the reason the whole thing fucked up in the first place!" Rocket objects. "If it weren't for them - sure, I'd have passed out in the cave right next to you, but Gamora'd gotten the thing, we could'a gotten outta there - "

"It's not a bad deal," Peter says, crossing his arms stubbornly. "We'll be tracking Yondu to make sure he brings it to the Nova Corps, so it's not like it'll get anywhere dangerous - "

"Dangerous!" Rocket says, and his eyes narrow; he can sniff out a cover-up half-a-light-year away. "That shiny glove thing's not just a fuckin' shiny glove thing, is it?"

Peter's mouth firms in a line. "It's still a good deal," he says mulishly. "You just - collapsed there, Rocket, who knew what was wrong with you - "

"I'd have been fine," Rocket dismisses. "Drax woke up by himself, no medical intervention needed."

"Well," says Peter, sounding triumphant, as though he's got the upper hand somehow. "Think about how you'd feel if it were me."

That's - "That's not the point!" Rocket sputters, but Peter looks very smug.

"I am Groot," says Groot, sounding amused. Rocket spins on his heel to see Groot peering in through the doorway, looking as though he's been there a while.

"You," says Rocket, "not another word," at the same time Peter says loudly,

"Why is everyone saying that?! God," and Rocket turns back to him, bemused. Peter meets his eyes, then looks away quickly, red creeping into his cheeks. "Uh, you know," he says, "it's just something Yondu said, but he's a kidder, he's a joker, you know - "

"That guy looks like his main source of amusement is looting the corpses of his enemies," Rocket interrupts, dubious.

Peter bites his lip, stares at the ceiling, " - and he might have suggested you were in love with me? I mean, it's probably to do with that weird ownership thing you've got going - "

"What weird ownership thing?" Rocket says, confused.

"You know," says Peter, face still flushed, still not looking at him, "that whole, I'm yours, thing - "

"But," says Rocket without thinking, "of course you're mine." Peter stares at him and he stares back, and then his brain ticks back a few cycles and - oh.

Oh.

"I am Groot," says Groot, breaking up the suddenly awkward silence, and while it's all very droll Rocket really isn't up for teasing and turns to scowl at him instead. Groot, understanding what Rocket can't put into words, inclines his head seriously and leaves them be, the door shutting behind him.

"Did he just say," Peter starts, and pauses, seeming to consider his words. "Rocket?"

Rocket wants, just a little bit, to crawl into a hole and die. But if he knows anything, it's how to pick his battles; this is something that'll keep coming back and back until he faces it. Now that he - now that Rocket has a name for it, that strange light-hearted thing that's terrifying and wonderful all at once, it's like the universe has been pulled into his reach, the galaxy his for the taking but at the same time, a black hole has opened up right beneath his feet. Maybe it'll suck him up, endless and timeless, maybe he'll freeze in open space; there are a million ways he could die but there's always the chance to reach escape velocity and fly away to the stars. "Quill," Rocket says, aiming for lightness and missing by about a light-year. He turns around slowly.

"It's okay, you know," says Peter. He's shifted around on the cot so he's sitting, his elbows on his knees, looking at Rocket intently. Rocket can't quite meet his gaze. "Rocket," he says, "it's okay, because - I'm in love with you, too."

The equations check out, kinetic and gravitational energy align, and the galaxy is looking pretty good. Rocket says, "Of course you are," but he doesn't stop smiling for days.


End file.
